


Man Against the World

by kenchang



Series: Conan the Cimmerian [3]
Category: Conan the Barbarian (2011)
Genre: Gen, Nudity, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 08:18:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16888956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenchang/pseuds/kenchang
Summary: Conan fights demons both physically and mentally, as he tries to forget the beautiful Tamara either in battle or in the arms of the equally beautiful Elsa.





	Man Against the World

**Author's Note:**

> Do not expect much accuracy to the source. It is only fan fiction after all.

Again, Conan's mind drifts to thoughts of the beautiful novitiate, Tamara. He rescued her. He loved her. And then he left her. As he has left many other women before her. Despite being a natural loner, Conan the Cimmerian is still able to form relationships. It is in the sustentation of those relationships where he bungles.

"Conan?", Elsa worriedly asks, a spear in her trembling hands. "Are you ready?"

"I was born on the battlefield, woman," he answers. "I am always ready to fight."

His confidence seems to give her some comfort.

Then he hears the lookout scream from atop the watchtower, "Conan!"

"It is time," Conan utters grimly, drawing his sword. "Olaf, light the arrows. Tell your archers to let them loose on my signal."

"But, Conan," the portly man protests. "There is no moonlight. How are we to aim? The arrows will be wasted if we cannot-"

"What did I tell you during training?!"

Olaf swallows hard then stutters, "N-Never question your commands."

"Do not concern yourself with saving arrows. They will be of no use to you should we die."

Conan turns his attention to the trees in the distance beyond the snowfield. Streams of shadows pour in between them, blanketing the grounds, seemingly making the surface come to life.

"Now!", Conan commands.

The archers loose their flaming arrows into the night sky. For a fleeting moment the ground is illuminated. And one can see the horrors that cover it.

They are called the Frozensux, feral creatures twice the size of a grown man and thrice as strong, with heavily muscled bodies cloaked in long, black, stiff, coarse hair. They feed on humans. Though, hunger is not their only motivation to kill. They seem to take pleasure in the act. No one knows from whence they come. Some wizards surmise that they are demons born from our own nightmares. The high priests sermonize that they have been sent by the gods to punish us for our sins. Conan cares not whence the Frozensux are from, only where his sword will take them.

The arrows fall like rain. Those that miss their mark are extinguished in the snow. Those that do not set the creatures ablaze! The hellish beasts shriek in fear of the light. And with the fiery corpses of their kind acting like braziers, they can no longer attack under the protective veil of darkness. Conan raises his sword and roars. Then he rushes forward, leading the others into battle. Or perhaps to certain doom.

#

He knows that many of them will die. These people are no warriors. They are herders, ice fishermen, trappers, and a few small game hunters like Olaf. Some days ago, the wandering Cimmerian chanced upon Erian Snowflake, an isolated village plagued by the Frozensux. In exchange for food, mead, and shelter from a severe snowstorm, he offered to forge weapons for them, as his blacksmith father had taught him. When he became their friend, he helped to fortify their land, and trained their people to fight.

#

He has done the best he can with what little he had for them. He can only hope that it is enough.

The Frozensux are only briefly startled and confused by the light from the fires. Conan does not waste the opportunity. He leaps and stabs a creature in the eye, burying half his blade into the monster's enormous head. The beast howls in agony, but the barbarian does not wait for it to die. He has not that luxury. Already its hideous brothers are recovering from their discombobulation. The Cimmerian shoves his kill away with his boot to quickly extract his sword. In one motion, he swings the weapon around in an arc, slashing another monster's chest open! The barbarian's face is sprayed with its foul, black blood. He hears an angry snarl from behind him. Then he feels claws tear flesh from his back! Conan ignores the pain. There will be time for that later. Or none at all should he not survive the night. He spins around, lopping off his enemy's head!

"Behold!", Olaf cheers. "The demons flee!"

The Frozensux have encountered, in the barbarian, a more fearsome creature than even they. The monsters attempt to retreat into the darkness of the woods, but Conan gives them to quarter.

"Nay!", the Cimmerian shouts. "Let none of the foul beasts live lest they return with greater numbers!"

This time, Olaf obeys without question. He and his fellow archers strike down the fleeing Frozensux with arrows to the demons' backs! And Conan fights on. Even as his allies die around him. Even as his body weakens from numerous wounds. Even as the light from the fires fade, and he is once again surrounded by complete darkness. He roars, he strikes, he bleeds, and he slays.

#

The losses are great. Conan himself sleeps for two days as Elsa nurses him back to health. It is a costly, hard-won victory. But a victory nonetheless. And after the people of Erian Snowflake bury and mourn their dead, they rightfully have a feast to celebrate that triumph.

Conan recovers and is the guest of honor at the raucous festivity. While laughing and drinking with the men, his eyes wander to Elsa, as she dances with the others around a roaring bonfire. She is beauteous, with fair skin, lovely blue eyes, a slender figure, and long golden braided hair. But so preoccupied was he with thoughts of Tamara, that only now does he notice.

She catches him watching her and gives him a naughty smile in return. Her movements become more sensual. The barbarian does not hide his desire, his eyes moving up and down her form, as he takes another sip from his tankard of ale. Elsa gyrates towards him, in front of him, until it appears that she is dancing only for him. She extends her hand. The Cimmerian tentatively takes it, as he has never been a good dancer. But to his relief, she does not lead him towards the other revelers around the bonfire. Instead she leads him away from it, towards her house.

#

Elsa walks to her kitchen in search of more ale. She asks her guest, "Would you like something to-?"

But as she turns, she is startled to find Conan a hairbreadth from her, staring into her eyes. Before she can say another word, the barbarian roughly kisses her soft lips and tightly wraps his sinewy arms around her slim waist as if to prevent escape. Elsa's eyes open wide with shock. She tries to push him away that she might tell him to slow down, but he proves far too stong. The barbarian does not understand the silly games that civilized men and women play with each other. He wants her. She clearly wants him. What more is there to it?

Elsa feels the incredible bulge of the man's crotch press against her, its size, its power. And she is suddenly overwhelmed by intense desire, a heat and wetness in her sex. She wants what he has under his loincloth. She wants it inside her. She wraps supple arms around his corded neck and then passionately kisses him back. Conan effortlessly lifts and sits her on a kitchen countertop. His hands move up her smooth thighs, bunching the skirt of her dress upward. He parts her slender legs and positions himself between them.

When his kisses move down to the side of her neck, she impatiently screams, "For the love of the gods, Conan! I'm ready! Just put it inside me!"

The Cimmerian smiles devilishly before removing his loincloth. Elsa sees it for the first time, frighteningly large yet unbelievably rigid. Its length and girth fill her with a sudden fear of the pain it will most obviously cause her.

"W-Wait," she stutters, regretting her earlier words.

But the barbarian pays her no heed and slowly enters her. Just the tip, and the young woman clenches her teeth. A little deeper, and she shuts her eyes tight. Deeper still, and she claws his back and bites his shoulder. But unlike the Frozensux, her teeth and fingernails cannot cut into his tough Cimmerian hide.

His member halfway in and she tearfully begs, "Stop! I'm sorry! I can't! I can't! You're too big!"

Conan mercifully halts his descent and instead begins rocking his hips back and forth. Elsa is once again assailed by wave upon wave of pleasure. She moans with each of his thrusts.

Like the animal he is, Conan is about to rip the top of the woman's dress open when she protests, "Don't. My mother made me this dress."

She undoes the dress herself and slides it down her smooth shoulders, uncovering her firm breasts. She leans back, her palms on the counter, as if giving him a better view. Another naughty smile forms on her lips when she sees the lust in his eyes as he admires her nakedness. He cups her left breast and squeezes it while intensifying his motions, sending her loins into a frenzy. Elsa does not realize that she has been bucking her hips, meeting his every thrust.

They lock eyes, almost like they are challenging each other, attempting to outlast the other. But Conan is the far more experienced lovemaker. And much sooner than she expects, Elsa's eyeballs roll upward, her entire body trembles, and she lets out a long, loud moan at the peak of ecstasy. Only then does Conan allow himself to join in the rapture.

#

Days pass, and the villagers of Erian Snowflake return to their routines. There are far fewer drunken revels, and Conan is rarely invited to them. He is not shunned. In fact, the men respect him. But he is not one of them. He is still a Northerner, an outsider, a barbarian.

"I am leaving," he tells Elsa one night in her bed.

There is great sadness in her beautiful eyes, but not even a hint of surprise. This is a day that she both dreads and expects. And she makes no attempt to dissuade him. She kisses him passionately, and they spend their last night together making love.

The following day, the villagers bid their hero farewell. They gift him a mighty horse and thrice the provisions he needs to travel to the closest city. Olaf offers to see him out.

As they ride their horses at a slow pace, Olaf admits, "I still have nightmares of those things. I wake up in the middle of the night covered in cold sweat, fearing the beasts had crept into my home to drag me off to the netherworld."

"They were demons," Conan replies. "We all feared them. There is no shame in it."

"You may have feared the monsters some, true. But not the battle. Nay, you reveled in it. Yet afterwards. Afterwards, you became restless, irritable. We all sensed it in you. Perhaps even feared you some."

"I could never harm any of you."

"I know that, my friend. But you can't blame rabbits for fearing even a friendly wolf. Especially when they see that wolf growing hungrier every day."

At the edge of the village, Olaf tells him, "If you ever tire of battle, and you find yourself yearning for the quiet life, you will always have a home to come back to here."

#

Olaf's words have given him some comfort. Riding alone through a snow covered forest, Conan shakes his head and laughs at himself for his worries. There is still much of the world that he needs to see. He must remain a lone wolf for a while longer before he is ready to join a pack. As the sun rises over the mountaintops, he smiles broadly and excitedly spurs his horse forward. For it is a new day. Another day in which to live, to love, and to slay.

END

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.


End file.
